you were in silk and gold. Forgive my rustic sincerity; it may be
useful for you to know of these calumnies."

"Stop, monsieur," said Madame Firmiani, with an imperative gesture; "I
know all that. You are too polite to continue this subject if I
request you to leave it, and too gallant--in the old-fashioned sense
of the word," she added with a slight tone of irony--"not to agree
that you have no right to question me. It would be ridiculous in me to
defend myself. I trust that you will have a sufficiently good opinion
of my character to believe in the profound contempt which, I assure
you, I feel for money,--although I was married, without any fortune,
to a man of immense wealth. It is nothing to me whether your nephew is
rich or poor; if I have received him in my house, and do now receive
him, it is because I consider him worthy to be counted among my
friends. All my friends, monsieur, respect each other; they know that
I have not philosophy enough to admit into my house those I do not
esteem; this may argue a want of charity; but my guardian-angel has
maintained in me to this day a profound aversion for tattle, and also
for dishonesty."

Through the ring of her voice was slightly raised during the first
part of this answer, the last words were said with the ease and
self-possession of Celimene bantering the Misanthrope.

"Madame," said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in a voice of some emotion, "I
am an old man; I am almost Octave's father, and I ask your pardon most
humbly for the question that I shall now venture to put to you, giving
you my word of honor as a loyal gentleman that your answer shall die
here,"--laying his hand upon his heart, with an old-fashioned gesture
that was truly religious. "Are these rumors true; do you love Octave?"